


All the Paths We Tread

by hiddencait



Category: Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters (2013)
Genre: F/M, Hansel and Gretel have mouths like sailors, Incest if you squint, Off-screen cannon level violence against children, cannon level language, slight foot-fetish implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 14:14:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1390762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiddencait/pseuds/hiddencait
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boots were the wrong size.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Paths We Tread

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WildAndFreeHearts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildAndFreeHearts/gifts).



> So this was definitely a challenge for me - while I love this pairing, writing smut for them apparently is impossible even when I set out to do so!
> 
> In any case, I tried to stretch myself to fit WildandFreeHearts preferred foot-fetish kink. It didn't end up nearly as obvious as I planned, but hopefully it still makes her happy!
> 
> Also, big hug to my beta *name redacted* as she totally helped me keep Hansel's voice consistent in my head and keep the shippy bits in as much as possible. I have gone back and made some additional edits since she got her hands on it though, so any mistaks are totally my fault!

The boots were the wrong size, Hansel realized with a scowl, his eyes glued to his sister’s feet and legs. Gretel wasn’t giving much sign of any discomfort, but then, this was _Gretel._ He could count on his hands the few times his sister had allowed him to see her in pain. Wounded, sure, Hansel saw that every other fucking week with the work they did, but openly in pain and asking for help? Yeah, that wasn’t Gretel’s way.

 

It didn’t mean Hansel hadn’t spent his life studying his sister, learning every single tell, every bare twitch that might reveal his sister’s state of mind and body. Like now – anyone else watching her walk would have assumed that since she wasn’t limping that Gretel was fine, that there was nothing at all wrong with her feet.

 

Hansel, though, Hansel immediately zeroed in on the way she was balanced, to the way the weight of her steps had shifted to the balls of her feet. Gretel tended to stride out with long powerful steps when they weren’t on a hunt, landing on her heels to make her steps sound intimidating and to make the rest of her look it, too. It kept her on equal footing (pun absolutely intended) with the men of the fucking hill-billy towns they worked in. There was an obvious difference between the way those men’s wives and daughters walked, steps hampered by their skirts, and the way Gretel prowled free in her breeches and boots. She wasn’t moving that way now, though. All the weight of her was kept forward, keeping as much strain off her heels as possible. That was where the boots were rubbing, he was sure. A quick glance at the boot prints she left in the soft forest floor confirmed his guess.

 

Of course, she wasn’t asking to stop, and she’d bite his head off if he suggested they make camp for the night. They were heading for another bounty in Karlsburg. Three kids were missing already, or had been when they picked up the flyer two taverns back. There was a better than average chance there would be more gone now. The sooner they got there, the sooner they could take out the witch. Thus the sooner the kids of the piddly ass village would be safe, and more importantly at the moment, the sooner they’d get paid.

 

He scowled again, this time at the thought of the pitiful contents of their purse and the recent circumstances that had lead to it being emptier than normal.

 

They’d done the job in Johansson Town. They had done the job, damn it! Six little boys, all between the ages of five and eight had gone missing over the last four years. He and Gretel had arrived about a month after the last boy’d gone missing. Nobody’d held out much hope for the kid, but much to their surprise and horror, they’d found him alive, if not even remotely well, locked up in the cellar of the local tanner. They’d also found plenty of evidence that the other boys had been there by turn over the past few years. Needless to say, the boy was home, and the sick fuck of a tanner was dead. Didn’t mean a damn thing to the assholes on the village council who’d refused to give them all of their pay. “You promised to kill a witch – anyone could have killed this man!”

 

Hansel was just glad they’d demanded half the bounty up front as always. They’d already spent it on their lodgings and food before starting their search for the lair of the “witch.” The council hadn’t been able to force them to give back money they didn’t have anymore.

 

And it was just their luck that Gretel’s old and much abused boots had given out right as they tried to leave the shitty town. The worn leather had split completely across one of the careful patches he’d put in after the bitch of a snake witch had clawed almost through to Gretel’s ankles. And damn the hillbillies all to hell, Hansel hadn’t had the funds to commission Gretel a proper pair of boots this time, or fuck, even the funds for a crappy pair of clogs. It was sheer luck that the Johansson boy’s father had a spare pair already completed in his shop and had pressed them on Gretel in a painful sort of gratitude, his attention caught between her and the little boy just barely visible where he was hiding behind the shop counter. The kid’s father was a cobbler, so at least Hansel was fairly sure the boots were in good condition, but clearly, the size was off.

 

They’d have half their fee up front in Karlsburg, Hansel knew. He’d be able to replace her boots then, but it was still at least a day’s walk away. Gretel wasn’t some soft village girl, not her with her strong arms and weapon-calloused hands, but her feet blistered all to hell if they weren’t careful to avoid it. Well, if _Hansel_ wasn’t careful. Gretel wouldn’t do shit to baby herself the way Hansel thought she ought to. She usually wasn’t very happy when she caught him at it, either. Still, she’d let him sometimes, if he was a little sneaky about it.

 

Hansel watched her walk ahead of him for a few moments, then considered the sun overhead and already on its way toward the western horizon. They probably could have walked for an hour or two more, but Hansel figured it was close enough to dark that he could get away with making camp early. Plus, not too far to their left, he was sure he heard the soft murmur of what had to be a stream. That would make for a handy spot to camp.

 

Now, to give Gretel an excuse to agree with it.

 

He gauged the ground beneath them and picked out a likely tree root just ahead. He reached it and deliberately shoved his boot toe beneath it. Then he kept walking and let gravity do its job. Sure enough, he tripped and allowed himself to sprawl forward, twisting to take the brunt of the fall properly without hurting himself, his shotgun, or the pack of supplies he carried. It all looked terribly dramatic, but he was pleased with how little damage he’d actually done to himself with the little stunt.

 

He still yelped though, throwing in a curse or two just for good measure in case Gretel had against all odds not heard him crash to the earth like a fucking tree. A devilishly handsome, badass of a tree, he assured himself, but yeah, pretty much like a tree.

 

“Shit fuck, stupid path, fuck me,” he bitched convincingly, trying to keep the scowl on his face as predictably his sister turned to survey his sprawled form and shake her head mockingly.

 

“Damn it, Hansel.” The lack of any real bite to her voice gave away just how tired she really was. There was no way she wouldn’t have given him shit for his lack of grace on any other occasion. “You all right?” she asked, and this time he actually heard the exhaustion in her voice. Yup, he’d made the right decision with his little scheme.

 

Hansel let her help him to his feet, all the while thinking that this was what a proper adult did – _let people help them up_. Or help them at all. He didn’t totally fake the wince he made at putting weight on the foot that had caused his fall; he’d probably wrenched it a little, but nothing that a little soak in a stream wouldn’t hurt. Neither would such a soak hurt say… a blister or two. He put on his best pitiful expression and aimed it straight at Gretel, knowing, as he did, that it was one of her few weaknesses.

 

“Fuck, can… Can we just call it a night?” He looked around as if just noticing where they were and nodded towards the stream. “Maybe pitch camp by the creek? My ankle would love you forever for it.”

 

Gretel rolled her eyes fondly, and then sighed, looking off in the direction he’d indicated. “Fuck. Might as well. We won’t make Karlsburg tonight anyway.”

 

She stepped off the sad excuse for a road they’d been following through the forest and trekked over the distance to the stream they’d both known had to be there. Hansel followed close behind, not bothering to limp once Gretel had her back to him. They made it to the creek bank without any other injuries, real or feigned, and it only took a slight nudge from Hansel to get Gretel to drop down to sit with an almost inaudible sigh.

 

“All right, stoic one. Boots off,” Hansel ordered, grinning brightly when Gretel turned to glare at him.

 

“What about yours?” she asked, finally looking suspicious, but Hansel just waved her concern away.

 

“Ankle’s supported enough. I’m good. You're doing the stoic face. You know I hate the stoic face. So boots off.”

 

Gretel glared at him for another moment before sighing in defeat. “Fine, you win.”

 

He took care not to visibly gloat, though inside the little boy he still was at times was near cackling with glee at one-upping his sister, even in such a silly competition as this one. He sank down to the ground next to her and helped to ease her boots and wool socks off, ducking as she half-heartedly took a swipe at him for getting in her way. Hansel stopped her from fussing any further with a mock glare of his own, batting away her hands until she subsided and leaned back on them, finally allowing him to take over caring for her as he’d been determined to do all along.

 

Her boots and socks finally off and tossed toward the flat ground where he planned to build their fire, Hansel settled himself closer to the water and pulled her left foot into his lap to get a good look at the damage. Sure enough, the back of her heel was red and angry, and he knew when he checked her right foot he’d find the same thing. He shook his head, a little angry he hadn’t caught the signs sooner. Too late, now he’d just need to do what he could to ease her pain a little. Ignoring Gretel’s attempts to pull her foot from his hands, he went to work, rubbing the arch and ball of her foot to ease out the soreness he knew had to be there. Eventually, he could feel how the heat of his hands and the gentle pressure had relaxed the muscles of her feet, and he rubbed harder, stroking his thumbs and fingers in a circular motion until her foot went limp in his hands, the fight finally going out of her. He dropped a quick kiss to the arch of her foot, chuckling a little as Gretel shivered under his lips.

 

Hansel glanced over at his shoulder at her and winked cheekily, but Gretel just rolled her eyes. He tugged at her until she scooted forward far enough to submerge that foot in the creek. Then he reached for her right foot and gave it the same tender treatment, just as careful this time to avoid catching the blisters with his calloused hands. Getting the kinks out of her right foot was easier than working on the left had been; clearly, Gretel was relaxing a bit despite herself. He didn’t comment on it. Hansel knew all to well that calling attention to Gretel dropping her guard for him was the quickest way to get her tensed again. And he couldn’t have that, now could he?

 

Not when she was finally approaching something like calm and content. Not that she’d admit she’d gotten there, he thought, with a faint smile. Her right foot finally as boneless as her left had been, he kissed it softly too, and then slipped it out of his lap and into the water, satisfied he’d done a damned good job, if he did say so himself.

 

With both of her feet soaking in the cool water, a soft groan of relief left her lips. Gretel scowled at the sound, as if angry that she’d allowed herself to relax. Hansel shook his head at her stubbornness and sat back far enough to wrap his arm around her shoulders and kiss her temple. This time she didn’t try to bat him away and he took it as a sign that he was forgiven for his meddling. Finally. Hansel grinned against her hair and dropped a second kiss against her forehead, before he stood.

 

“I’ll get camp going. You just keep off your feet, all right?” he advised, hoping she’d listen to him for once. Gretel looked up to study him for a moment before glancing pointedly down to where he was standing with his weight easily held on _both_ feet. Hansel shrugged sheepishly, embarrassed she’d caught him out that easily.

 

Gretel smiled up at him softly, allowing her love for him to show on her face as she rarely did. Then, almost as if embarrassed by her own emotions, she turned to stare back out at the creek.

 

“How does fish sound for supper?” she asked, and Hansel grinned. That was as good as Gretel admitting she was willing to sit in one place for a while.

 

“Good to me. I’ll get you a willow switch and some of the fishing line.”

 

“Good. But you’re baiting the hook. I hate the crawly things.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Anything for you,” he replied with another wink over his shoulder. With that he strode over to their packs, pulling out the line and hooks as he’d promised.

 

He didn’t need to see her face to know she was smiling at him, again. After all, Hansel was smiling right back.

 

 


End file.
